Always
by Tier K
Summary: The snow laughed at him, and the wind called him a fool, but Thor knew better than to trust the weather. No, he would choose, as he always did, to trust in Loki. - A very short piece about how Thor never gives up on Loki, and the unbreakable connection between the two. The exact nature of their relationship is up for interpretation. Not particularly cannon adherent.-


It wasn't the worst he'd ever had.

It wasn't even close.

There'd been that time he'd hung from Surtur's ceiling in the hottest parts of Muspelheim. And that time he'd broken both legs so badly the bones had torn through the skin. Even the time he'd been accidentally run over by Freya's chariot-wielding cats had been worse than this.

Nevertheless, as his muscles screamed in agony and warm blood trickled across damaged skin, Thor couldn't help the tortured grunts and gasps that escaped his split lips. It wasn't the worst he'd had, but right now, the pain felt like more than he could handle. He tried to shift his dangling feet into a better position against the slick, ice-covered stone, but they slipped and slid, and every tiny jostle pulled against his already over-stretched arms and threatened to rip them from his shoulders. The ice burned against his back, the wind tore at his skin, and still, his life blood dripped from the numerous wounds covering his body, refusing to clot or freeze or stop flowing.

How long he had hung there on that icy cliff-side, he did not know. Perhaps days, perhaps hours, perhaps mere minutes, the perpetual gloom made it impossible to tell. Sometimes, like now, a jotun guard would come and ask him questions, questions about his father, his people, but mostly, questions about Loki. They wanted to know where the wayward prince had disappeared to.

"Dead," Thor told them, voice devoid of emotion.

They didn't believe him. More small, thoughtful wounds were inflicted upon him, calculated to cause pain, but little lasting damage, and certainly not death.

"Dead," Thor repeated. He had no energy to so much as wince as new cuts were made. "Dead." **  
**

.~.~.~.

It had been awhile since anyone had come. Thor thought perhaps they'd given up on him. The thought should have frightened him, but it was strangely comforting. Now he could wait in peace. Wait for death, or wait for Loki, whichever came first. To the world, Loki was dead. But Thor believed that it would take more that what the world had thrown at him to kill the Trickster God. Loki would come, as he always did, right in the nick of time. The snow laughed at him, and the wind called him a fool, but Thor knew better than to trust the weather. No, he would choose, as he always did, to trust in Loki.

The pain had receded into a dull throb, and the blood at last had ceased to flow, freezing upon shivering skin, solidifying torn clothes, and forming small icicles on extremities beginning to show the signs of frostbite. Thor's mind was a dull haze of fragmented thoughts. A flicker of doubt had formed, as it always did when he was later than expected, but still, Thor waited.

The snow had stopped its taunting, and the wind had settled back to whispering truths and lies when at last there was a change in the fog of Thor's world. Without warning, he found himself falling. His descent was abruptly halted by the deep drifts of snow beneath him. He could not open his eyes, but he felt a strong pair of arms anchor under his arms and haul him out of the snow. Hands that should have been cold but felt warm against his icy skin found their way to his neck, checking for a pulse.

Thor tried to speak, but his lips wouldn't move.

"I know," Loki said. "I'm late."

Those same arms lifted Thor to his feet. The Thunder God tried to help, feeling Loki's smaller body struggling under his size and weight, but he only succeeded in tipping himself further off balance.

"Be still," Loki hissed. He took one labored step, and then another.

Thor's consciousness slid away, and when he next opened his eyes, he was lying in a pile of furs next to a fire. The dark walls of a cave rose up around him, protecting him from the screaming of the wind outside. His gaze settled on Loki, warming the blue from his skin on the other side of the fire.

"I knew you would come," Thor croaked.

Loki's eyes, one red, one green, lifted to him, a smirk that was almost a smile lifted his thin lips.

"Always."


End file.
